


Drop Everything Now

by isengard



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, That's it, its just porn, like bad porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard/pseuds/isengard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime meets Bart in the pouring rain.</p><p>That's about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop Everything Now

**Author's Note:**

> so, I have a very specific headcanon about Bart's future, that basically the Reach have breeding program for Meta-Gene Actives and Carriers, and they give people like Bart growth hormones so they'll be "sexually mature" like 16 or 18 or whatever, by the time they're 13 or 14, so they can be incorporated into the breeding program as early as possible. It is briefly referenced in this. that is all.

When Jaime's phone buzzes against his ass, he doesn't need to look to see who it is. It's a little awkward, getting into his back pocket – he's crammed next to Tim and Garfield on a couch in Karen's common room, with Cassie and Barbara chatting away with a couple of Karen's friends on the other end. Tim and Gar look about as awkward as he feels, being underage at a college party, although, there must be more to it than that, because Cassie and La'gaan seem perfectly at ease, and Bart looks downright comfortable curled up in the corner of the couch across from him.

 _Too_ comfortable, actually, from the way his mouth is curved up in a smirk and those big green eyes are boring into Jaime's like he's reading every private, dirty thought Jaime's ever had.

Jaime finally wiggles his phone out of his pocket as it's buzzing for the second time, chastising him for not checking the message sooner.

_Cool party, huh?_

He glances up, and Bart is looking away again, conversing idly with M'Gann and Karen. Bart has that uncanny ability to "fake it 'till he makes it", he can just flip a switch and slap on a big smile, talk anybody's ear off as long as they're willing to listen. For someone like Jaime, who's actually seen glimpses of the darkness underneath, all the pain and bitterness Bart's hiding, it's a little unnerving, and makes him wary of the heavy-lidded glances Bart's been throwing his way lately.

He texts back, _You look like you're having fun_.

M'Gann laughs and ruffles Bart's hair, and then turns to say something to Karen. Jaime watches intently as Bart's gaze drops to his lap, and he sees the quirk of a smile that's not exactly like the one Bart's been putting on for the party.

 _Yeah, well you look like you're about to fall asleep over there. Never figured you for such a wild guy, Blue_.

Jaime blushes. Bart's still not looking at him, but the way he's chewing his lip as he nods to Karen suggests that he knows, which makes Jaime blush even harder. He doesn't know why Bart is texting him instead of just coming over and talking to him, but the whole thing is making him feel warm and restless. He fidgets in his seat and types, _Just wondering when we're going to start the movie. I suck at the small talk thing. I don't know any of these people_.

The reply comes instantly, even though Bart's in the middle of a sentence to Karen. _Yeah, I hear you. We should get out of here. Go explore or something_.

Something coils and uncoils in Jaime's gut; his fingers twitch against his leg. Considering the effect Bart has on him, especially right now, when his legs are tucked gracefully underneath him on the couch, collarbones peeking out of the sweatshirt he stole (“scavenged”) from Jaime, hair mussed and lips curved in a secret smile Jaime _knows_ is meant for him, it's probably a colossally bad idea to go wander around a college campus in the darkness, just the two of them.

It _is_ a colossally bad idea, like flying headfirst into a hurricane, but Jaime has a strong suspicion this thing with Bart is the kind of storm that will catch him whether he runs out to meet it or not.

He's about to respond with some manner of fumbling non-agreement when Dick walks in, looking unfairly good in civvies as always, and completely soaked to the skin. Despite that, he's grinning, and thanks Barbara with a wink as she hands him a towel that she presumably pulled out of nowhere. “Sorry I'm late, guys. It's really coming down out there.” He chuckles and runs the towel over his hair. “Jeez. What are we watching?”

“You're the tiebreaker,” M'Gann says, holding up two DVDs. “ _Princess Bride_ , or _Ferris Bueller_?”

Dick's eyes widen. “Oh, man. Why you guys gotta do me like this?”

“C'mon, fearless leader,” Mal calls from the corner. “This is what we need you for. Tough decisions.”

“Crap. Okay, uh, _Princess Bride_.” He looks around. “That okay?”

Garfield groans, but everyone else seems pleased with Dick's decision. 

Ten minutes into the movie, a clap of thunder sounds outside, and Jaime sees Bart jump a little in his seat. He still hasn't responded to Bart's last text, figuring the apparent torrential downpour was answer enough to the “go exploring” question, but he sees Bart glance at his phone, and feels a little guilty.

_You ok?_

_Extremely crash, thanks,_ Bart replies. _I've seen this movie about eighteen times though. Wally and Artemis watched it like, every other day._

Jaime feels a small pang in his chest at that, and types, _Well, if you feel like risking death by hypothermia, we can still bail._

He means it as a joke (doesn't he?), but the way Bart's eyes light up across the room makes him wonder if he hasn't just made a fatal error. The reply comes in less than a second. _I'm game if you are._

_Bart, it's pouring rain. We'll probably drown._

_So? I like storms. You like storms._ How does he _know_ these things? _What's the matter, hermano?_ Jaime doesn't need to look up to know that Bart's staring at him with a wicked look in his eyes, practically sparkling and very, very dangerous to the pathetic shreds of Jaime's steadfast resolve. His phone buzzes again.

_What are you scared of?_

It's extremely underhanded, is what it is. Jaime is a superhero for crying out loud, his bravery isn't something that's exactly in question, but he's also a teenage boy, and few things hold more power over him than a dare.

 _Please. I'm not scared_.

Predictably, Bart grins. _Prove it._

 _You first._ He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Bart's gaze melts over him again, and he has to remind himself to exhale.

Bart leans over and mutters something to M'Gann, who nods vaguely, eyes fixated on the screen. Then he gets up from the couch, unfolding his limbs in a slow, deliberate way that makes Jaime's fingers tighten reflexively on his thigh.

Then he's gone.

Another clap of thunder sounds, sending a bolt of arousal straight to Jaime's groin, and he wonders if _all_ the difficult metaphors in his life are going to manifest themselves into reality like this.

“I'm gonna go make a call,” he whispers to Tim, and silently slips out of the common room, down the stairs, down the hall, and out the door.

Fat drops immediately splatter all over his head and face; heavy sheets of rain obscure what little he can make out in the darkness. He suits up and flies into the air, switching to heat vision, scanning the campus for Bart. No one is outside – probably because they are all sane people, not lunatics who fly around in metal suits in the middle of lightning storms – and then he sees the blur of body heat that can only be a speedster, making leisurely laps around a section of grass in the quad, splashing in puddles, running up the sides of buildings to catapult himself through the endless barrage of falling water.

Jaime lands and retracts his armor, closes his eyes and tilts his head back, letting the rain wash over him and root him to the spot. It's _loud_ , so loud he almost doesn't hear Bart approach, even though he's clearly making no effort to be quiet. It's not cold, but he shivers when he straightens and opens his eyes to see Bart standing inches in front of him, soaked and disheveled and _way_ too hot for a thirteen year old, growth-hormones or not.

“What are you doing, Bart?”

Bart screws up his face. “Huh?”

The storm is _really_ loud.

“What are you _doing_?” he says, louder, leaning closer so Bart can hear him. “How did you even know I like storms?”

Bart laughs. “I didn't. Just wanted to get you outside.” They're close enough that Jaime can see the drops collecting on the ends of his eyelashes.

His stomach flips. “You're gonna kill me,” he says. Bart licks his lips. “I'm gonna die of pneumonia, all because you wanted to splash in some puddles.”

Bart says, “That's actually not all I wanted to do,” and fists his hand in the front of Jaime's sweatshirt. He looks at Jaime's mouth, then meets his eyes. “Okay?”

Jaime stutters out a shallow breath, and nods. “Okay.”

Their lips brush together, shyly at first, tentatively, and Jaime has a few seconds to idly wonder if this is Bart's first kiss as they break apart to look at each other. Then Bart's pulling him back in, strong and unyielding, claiming Jaime's mouth with his own, sliding his hand through the streams of water cascading down Jaime's neck to tug at the soaked ends of his hair, tracing his tongue over the line of Jaime's lower lip and pressing their bodies insistently together, and it becomes _more_ than apparent that Bart's done this before. If anything, Jaime's the fumbling one, using too much teeth, gasping into Bart's mouth, running his hands all over Bart's back because he can't decide where he wants to put them besides _everywhere_. They're so incredibly wet, shrunken in their dripping clothes, the enormity of the storm around them making every small moment suddenly _significant_ , like the flick of Bart's tongue against his, a puff of Bart's breath in his mouth, the round, hard outline of a jeans button pressing into his crotch, and something else entirely underneath it, the unmistakeable shape of arousal that reroutes all the blood in his body and makes his vision swim.

“Bart,” he pants, sliding his hand down and gripping his ass, pulling them tighter together still, grinding against each other, “I don't – if you want to stop – you should tell me, yeah?”

Bart laughs and licks a line down Jaime's jaw, stopping at the base of his ear to _suck_ , and Jaime's knees almost give out. “Do _you_ want to stop?”

Jaime debates saying _yes, let's go back inside, let's continue this later when we've saved the world and I'm old enough to see an R-rated movie_ , but then Bart's hand snakes between them and palms at his crotch, and what comes out instead is the truth.

“Never.”

Bart kisses him again, sloppy, and it's Jaime's turn to swallow his moans, small noises tinged with desperation that Jaime can roughly translate as _let's make this count, we might not get a 'later'_.

Jaime's lips feel swollen and bruised when Bart breaks away and pulls him forward, past the edge of the quad between two impressive looking buildings with dark windows. There's an awning above that provides some shelter, a quiet bubble in which Jaime's breathing is suddenly deafening, so much so that he almost doesn't notice Bart murmuring in his ear, still stroking him through his jeans and pushing a slender thigh between his legs.

“I got you, I got you, Blue.” Quick fingers are at Jaime's belt, and his head thunks against the bricks. Bart's jeans are already undone, he realizes when he goes to match Bart's movements, and he slides his hand down the back of Bart's pants instead, teasing his fingers over the crack of Bart's ass, dipping in between his cheeks through soaked briefs. Bart says, “ _Fuck,_ ” and shoves his hand down the front of Jaime's boxers, taking him in his fist and making Jaime bite back a shout into a whimper.

"Is this okay?"

"Jesus, Bart," Jaime groans, trying desperately not to thrust into his friend's hand and failing. "It's - you're - we don't have to, if you don't - "

Bart squeezes him around the base of his cock tentatively, grinning widely as Jaime shudders. "I think we should."

Jaime can't really think of a counter-argument, so he tightens his grip on Bart's ass and pulls him forward, pressing his cheek into Bart's hair, biting the inside of his mouth so all the things he wants to whisper don't come tumbling out unbidden.

Bart works him up and down a few times, and Jaime already feels like he's losing the ability to stand, and then Bart works him _faster_ – like, _Bart_ faster, practically vibrating, and Jaime's never gotten a hand job before, but he's fairly certain he's never going to be able to get one again and have it be in the same ballpark as this. Bart's hand is moving blindingly fast along his shaft, twisting at the head, stroking, stripping, it's impossible for anything in the world to be this _good_ , but the feeling of Bart's cock, also hard, _also_ vibrating, pressing into his hip, with Bart's face buried in his armpit, Bart's body trembling under his fingers, all that somehow makes it _better_ , and Jaime is going to last about three fucking seconds, and then Bart _whines_ – 

And that's it, show's over. Jaime comes like he didn't even know was possible, with full-body tremors, hips shooting away from the wall, gasping and cursing and wetness around his eyes that has nothing to do with the rainstorm happening overhead. Bart shudders against him at irregular intervals, and Jaime holds onto him as tightly as he can, feeling their hearts pound together. 

“I'm,” he says after a moment, trying to hold Bart against him with arms that are increasingly rubbery and boneless, “That was.”

“Standing bad.” Bart's voice is muffled against his sweatshirt. “Sit, now. Going to fall down.”

Jaime says, “The ground is wet, though.”

There's a moment when all he can hear is the pounding of rain on the awning, the steadying draw of his own breath, and then Bart starts shaking with laughter, and Jaime starts laughing too, and they're in a heap on the ground trying desperately to catch their breath before he can even plan for a comfortable landing.

“ _Ow_ ,” he groans through sobs of laughter. “I think I just bruised my ass.”

Bart grins. “I have that effect on people.”

“Oh, God. There's come all over my sweatshirt, isn't there?”

“Two of your sweatshirts, actually,” Bart says, gesturing to himself. He looks around. “If only there was a way we could wash away the evidence.”

Well, he has a point. “Dios,” Jaime mutters, slumping back against the wall, keeping Bart tucked against him. “I can't believe we just did that.” He swallows. “Like, that was really – ”

“Amazing?” Bart supplies hopefully.

“Uh, I was gonna say unexpected, reckless, maybe, _insane_ – but yeah, obviously amazing.” He leans forward and kisses Bart's forehead, a gesture that surprises him in its intimacy.

Bart blinks at him, and then smiles, not one of his huge, unrepentant grins, but a slow smile, a little wobbly, genuine in a way that stops Jaime's breath in his throat. They stare at each other, a little dumbfounded, until Bart coughs and says, “I think the word you're actually looking for is _crashtastic_.”

Jaime snorts. “I can honestly guarantee you right now that 'crashtastic' will never, ever be the word I am looking for.”

“You say that now,” Bart tells him. “Just wait until the next storm. You'll be singing a different tune then, hermano.”

Jaime rolls his eyes, but dips his head to kiss Bart, uncomplicated and slow.

They don't wait until the next storm.


End file.
